She was Buffalo Wallow Woman, Old Lodge Skins’s wife, and the other inside who favored her was her younger sister, White Cow Woman, who according to the Cheyenne practice had come along with her kin when the latter married and was obliged in the same degree as the proper wife to make herself available to the chief for all the purposes to which an Indian puts a female.
Anyway, Buffalo Wallow Woman laughed, and pointing at the dog, put a question to me. Taking my tearful look as sufficient answer, she picked up the animal, who thereupon howled with anguish which availed him nothing. For directly Buffalo Wallow Woman carried him inside the tepee, where she busted his skull with a stone hammer, rolled him through the fire to singe his hair, chopped the carcass to a number of bleeding hunks, then into a kettle they went to boil. This was the work of as many moments as it takes to tell it, for she was a plump and powerful soul, and smiling all the while.
Old Lodge Skins was looking proud enough to bust. There isn’t any better eating to an Indian than dog, and white dog is the very best of that. To show you how high they regard this victual, they had had no fresh meat for more than a week yet forbore from touching their dog pack.
I’m afraid that me and Caroline failed to understand the honor we was being done at that juncture. My sister stood fast at the massacre of people, including her own Pa, but when it come to seeing that ugly dog butchered before our eyes, she began to sway on her crossed legs and try to swallow her fist.
That was when Old Lodge Skins all at once looked at Caroline and sneezed so hard his plug hat slipped down over one eye. He sneezed again, and off it fell entirely. Twice more he spasmed in his big nose-it sounded like the barking of a fox-and his braids flew and his medal leaped up, falling back with a thunk against his breastbone.
Now the whole pack left off stuffing grub down their gullets and gawked at us like they should have when we first appeared but I guess failed to because, having minds of one track, they was fascinated with the prospect of eating that antelope. The pretty woman with the doe eyes went so far as to come and set right on Caroline’s very buffalo skin and peer incessantly at my sister, who had all she could put up with just in trying not to vomit on account of the white dog, who you could already smell in the steam from the pot, sort of the odor of a wet overcoat hanging near a fire to dry.
Shooting Star was that woman’s name and she was the wife of Burns Red in the Sun and had give birth to the several children she had brought to the chief’s tepee, including one tiny baby in a cradleboard hanging from a lodgepole, who had beady little black eyes like a bird. His contraption was arranged so he could water without being took out of the sling.
The curiosity of Shooting Star served to take Caroline’s mind off the perturbations of her stomach, and she summoned her strength to say: “Right proud to meet you, Mrs.,” offering one of her big paws to shake on it. But what the Indian woman did instead was reach into the fork of my sister’s jeans and feel there, then the same with the chest of her shirt. Concluding which, she spoke one word to Old Lodge Skins: “Vehoa!” and clapped a hand over her own mouth. The chief followed suit and was joined by everybody present in the same gesture.
Sooner or later an Indian will sneeze when he is near a white woman. Some say that is due to perfume or talcum powder, but I never saw my sister use anything on herself but yellow soap.
However you want to explain it, that was the first time any of the Cheyenne knew Caroline for a girl.
CHAPTER 3 I Make an Enemy
THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN men and women is very important to the Cheyenne-more so than the distinction of the dead from the living, as a matter of fact-and they was satisfied to have established it insofar as my sister went. Besides, the antelope was all ate up at that moment and the dog wasn’t quite ready. So the rest of the Indians come crowding round us to exercise their curiosity.
This was mannerly by their lights. They restricted themselves to peering, for the most part; and some handled our clothing, but never touched flesh. I believe could we have understood Shooting Star’s remarks, we would have heard her in so many words apologize to Caroline for the laying on of hands-which was justified by the facts derived from it. I mention this because, being white, it always seemed marvelous to me that savages was not inconsiderate except through ignorance.
Particular attention was of course paid me by the kids. Little Horse, that boy who had cared for the ponies-I sure made a big hit with him from the first. As I have said, I did not take to him; but even at that age I was shifty, had to be, else I wouldn’t have survived a decade let alone more than a century, and so when I saw him admiring my boots, I stripped them off quick and offered to hand them over. But the thought of confining his feet in such fashion is one of the many things that scares an Indian, so he pretended not to get the purpose.
The dog was served up directly. Fortunately it was a small animal and had to go around to many eaters, although as guests me and Caroline got the largest chunks. The Cheyenne proceeded to stay up to midnight, it must have been. When I say that, I mean various of them came and went, new individuals entered the lodge and inspected my sister and me, certain Indians rolled up in their buffalo robes and went to sleep right alongside groups of others chattering and laughing (for contrary to white opinion nobody is more sociable than a redskin when among his own). Some sort of activity continued for hours during which the fire continued to blaze: the women, for instance, went about their chores and Old Lodge Skins smoked four or five pipefuls with divers of his cronies. One of the latter was Hump, of all people, who other than a big scab on his nose looked very fit and grunted at me and Caroline in a friendly manner. I don’t know whether or not he recognized us from the day before, but he was very decent about not blaming us for his having committed rapine and murder-which is how an Indian would look at it.
As to Caroline, she sat on her robe in pretty much of a daze from the time of Shooting Star’s investigation and even ate her dog in the same spirit. Old Lodge Skins paid her no more attention at all. He wasn’t insulting, just not interested.
At length the fire dwindled because Buffalo Wallow Woman wasn’t throwing any more chips on it, having gone to a well-deserved bed if I ever saw one. As I found out the next day, me and Caroline had hers, next to that of Old Lodge Skins; so she displaced one of her kids further on, and so it went around the circle like musical chairs until my admirer Little Horse was short man and had to go next door to the tepee of his brother, who was none other than Burns Red in the Sun.
Eventually my sister and me was sitting there alone looking at the dying fire, from which the smoke clumb in a skinny thread to the hole at the junction of the lodgepoles and there met the night, a sky colored dark blue, rather than black, by virtue of a dust of yellow stars.
Next to us, Old Lodge Skins was taking his murmurless rest, his hat dangling overhead from a rawhide line, the silhouette of his big beak pointing up in the perpendicular. You could hear a number of strong breathings but no snores, on account of Indians are trained from birth not to make noise when there ain’t a purpose to it. Also a faint sifting now and again as a last piece of buffalo dung dissolved into ash.
It was queer to be there, but speaking for myself no longer scary. You may think the worse of me, away from my home such as it had been and my father killed and all, but I had begun to feel as thoug hit wasn’t so desperate. It was warm in that lodge and the people had turned out to be tolerant. If they hadn’t offered us violence that night, I couldn’t figure them doing it next day: you don’t feed a fellow by dark and then murder him next morning. On the other hand, though, you couldn’t get away from the fact they wasn’t white.